Carry You
by lucklessforhim
Summary: I ain't giving up quite yet, I've got too much to lose... / "Puck gets home from practice at a quarter of six, just as the sun is setting."


**Title:** Carry You

**Author:** lucklessforhim

**Pairing:** Puck/Quinn

**Rating:** PG-13

**Summary:** I ain't giving up quite yet, I've got too much to lose...

**Word Count:** About 1350

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee or any of it's characters.

**Note: **Another Glee fic! Not beta'd, so please excuse any mistakes. Set in the back nine. Title and summary from the Augustana song "Sweet and Low." Please, read and let me know what you think!

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Puck gets home from practice at a quarter of six, just as the sun is setting. His Mom is in the kitchen making dinner, and by the smell of it, it's chicken night. He goes up the stairs, his boots thumping heavily on each one. Everything from breakfast, to homeroom, to glee club, to football, to chicken has been completely normal. And that's when he hears it.

He hears sniffles and whimpers coming from behind the closed door of his and Quinn's room. Crying girls is not something he knows how to handle well. The night that changed his life, Quinn had been crying and upset, and he didn't know how to fix it, so he just kissed her and kissed her until she stopped feeling anything but him. He prided himself in being a problem solver (also a problem causer, but that was really beside the point here), but emotional problems weren't something he was comfortable dealing with.

But then he hears her sob, and his stomach does a guilty flip. He couldn't just let her cry like that. No matter how uncomfortable it might make him, he would do anything to keep her from being sad enough to make that sound again.

So, he pushes open the door, The first thing he sees is her small body curled up in a ball on the bed, completely surrounded by laundry. She's clutching her stomach and his first thought is, _"Oh, God. Something's wrong."_

"Quinn?" he asks softly, kneeling by her head. His calloused fingers reach out to smooth away a strand of tear-damp hair. "Are you okay?"

She just continues to sob, but shakes her head no.

He curses under his breath, and hesitantly asks the question that's been living in the back of his mind, sitting heavily like a rock in his gut, ever since he found out she was pregnant. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

She shakes her head no again, and he lets out a long-held breath and presses a relieved kiss to her forehead.

"It's nothing like that," she mumbles weakly.

"Then, what _is_ it, babe? Talk to me, let me _fix it_." He really hates how desperate he sounds, but he hates seeing her cry even more.

"You can't fix it, Noah." She lets out another sob and dabs at her eyes with her sleeve.

She's taken to doing that lately, calling him Noah. At first it was just when they were around his Mom, to be polite. But now she did it when they were alone, too. And he loves the sound of her voice in the quiet dark of midnight when she whispers his name and reaches for him.

"You don't know that. At least let me try, huh?" he prods gently.

For a minute, she says nothing. She just stares up at the fan in the middle of his ceiling like she doesn't know where to begin. But eventually her sobs quiet enough that she can speak more than a few words at a time.

"Earlier," she begins slowly, carefully. "I was trying to do my homework, but I couldn't focus on it. All I could see was dirty clothes and clutter everywhere I looked."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly, cutting her off. "Better?" he asks with a smile hoping that he fixed it.

That just seems to bring new tears to her eyes, and he doesn't know why.

"You're really sweet," she says, wrapping her hand, small and warm, around his. "But...That wasn't the problem."

He looks at her tiny hand intertwined with his, feels how soft it is. Her breath hitches a little and she tries to compose herself again. He tells himself that it wasn't something he did, but that doesn't make him feel any better. Because she's still so sad, and all he wants is for her to feel better. He tries not to think too much about what the churning feeling in his gut means, while she grips his hand tighter and continues the story.

"I saw the mess, and it wasn't even _that_ messy, but I just couldn't stand it any longer. So, I cleaned. I cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned. And while I was folding the last of the laundry, I remembered why I was cleaning in the first place." Her voice breaks on the last sentence, and his heart breaks with it.

"Why?" he asks quietly, like it's a secret.

All of a sudden, the tears are streaming down her face and he reaches out to brush some of them away.

"Because I was nesting," she sobs. "Nesting for a baby that I won't _ever_ bring home." She feels full right now, and there's a baby girl that traces patterns in her hips, her ribs, her skin. But soon (all too soon and not soon enough), that baby girl will be living with a family that's not them, and then she'll feel empty. Puck's not the smartest guy (he's no Finn, either) but even he knows that empty is not a good feeling.

And now, he gets it. He really _can't_ fix it. So, he does the only thing he can. He puts the various baskets and stacks of laundry in the corner and he climbs into the bed behind her. He curls his strong and solid body around her soft, full one, and he just holds her. He tries like hell to protect her, make her feel better, something.

He presses his lips to her temple, murmurs soft words that he hopes like hell are comforting, and lets one hand move to stroke her hair. She grabs the other hand like a lifeline while she continues to sob, and presses it against her belly.

"Don't let go," she whimpers desperately.

"I won't. I swear."

.:: - : - : - : - ::.

Three hours later, when Quinn had long ago cried herself to sleep wrapped up in his embrace, he's still wide awake, watching her and thinking.

His mom knocks softly on the door, and the warm light from the hallway floods the room as she opens the door a crack.

"Noah?" she calls softly from the door. "Everything okay?"

"I-I guess? Fuck, I don't know, Mom," he replies wearily. He's about to be someone's father, but he's only 16, and she's still his mom. She's supposed to have the answers for him, and right now he has no fucking clue what he's doing.

"Okay," she patiently replies. "When you two get up, there's leftovers in the fridge. Make sure Quinn eats something."

"Okay," he mumbles, watching the girl sleeping in his arms. Make her eat. He could do that.

"Noah," his mother calls again on her way out. "It'll be okay."

He feels like there's no way his mom could know that for sure, but she's his mom, and he desperately hopes that she's right. He nods, smiles just a little, just enough that his mom smiles back and closes the door without so much as a click.

He knows that what happened earlier was a combination of baby hormones, the due date getting closer, and just the shittiness of the whole situation. But he couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility. He misses the time when he could party every weekend, get drunk, have sex, and beat people up without ever thinking about the consequences.

All that went out the window when Quinn got pregnant, when he suddenly had a baby and her mother to think about. Now, all he _does _is think about the consequences. Is this fight going to be the one that makes Quinn lose all hope in him being able to be there for her like she needs? Is this drink going to convince her for sure to give the baby up?

Puck knew no matter what they ended up doing about the baby, he would never be the same after this. She wasn't even born yet, and she had already changed him forever.

He looks down at beautiful, peaceful Quinn sleeping in his arms, and feels the baby push against his hand. He wants to believe that everything really will be okay, that his mom is right, now more than ever.

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The End.


End file.
